


Mark Me, I'm Yours

by wrote_and_writ



Series: Give Me Liberty to Love You [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 04:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4906279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrote_and_writ/pseuds/wrote_and_writ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire and Enjolras spend their first Christmas together as a couple, but exchange gifts early.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mark Me, I'm Yours

The snow that had been threatening to fall all week blanketed the city as Enjolras walked home. He saw Eponine to the apartment she shared with Cosette and made his way through the dark to his own apartment. By the time he got home, the snow topped his shoes. His trousers were soaked to the knees, and he was very nearly too numb to be annoyed. Nearly. He had turned down the heat when he left in an effort to conserve heat and funds. He loved his apartment, a small, one bedroom flat at the top of a converted factory, loved the shabby neighborhood still mercifully free of the young, rich banker-types who infested most of the rest of Old Town, but he did not love the poor insulation and thin-paned windows. It would take at least an hour before the flat was properly heated, and he could only hope his landlord had finally fixed the water heater as promised.  


Enjolras was about to open the bag containing Grantaire's gift when he rounded the corner and noticed lights and the shadow of a figure moving across the windows of his apartment. He quickened his pace, jogged up the six flights of stairs to his apartment, and opened his front door, sweating and slightly out of breath.  


Grantaire looked up from his sketchbook and gave Enjolras a smile that melted away the last of the evening chill. Grantaire was curled up barefoot on Enjolras's couch, drawing while the news played on mute in the background.  


"Hello," he said, standing and stretching his long limbs. "I was wondering when you'd get home."  


Enjolras divested himself of his wet coat, shoes, and socks, taking care to keep the package with Grantaire's gift hidden. "Sorry, mon choux, I had an errand with Eponine that took longer than anticipated. Have you been waiting long?"  


"A few hours," he said. He shambled to Enjolras's side and tucked him in an embrace. He nuzzled into the crook of Enjolras's neck. "I brought dinner."  


Enjolras returned Grantaire's embrace, then stepped aside. "Let me change into something dry, yes? I'll only be a moment."  


Grantaire kissed him on the cheek, then swatted him playfully on the ass. "Take your time. I'll heat the bread and soup a bit more."  


"God, I love you." Enjolras thrilled to see the flush in Grantaire's cheeks raised by his words. It was not the first time he said them, but it was still a new and wondrous thing, this love, out in the open, a love returned. Enjolras hurried into his room, taking the parcel with him.  


He hummed tunelessly to himself as he changed, finding a maroon sweater Grantaire had left some days before and putting it on. It smelled like Grantaire -- turpentine and paint and smoke from the bars he frequented. He then looked for some place to hide Grantaire's gift.  


It was no use hiding it in his closet or dresser. Even before they had become lovers, Grantaire,and indeed all of his friends, had treated each other's homes and possessions as extensions of their own. The only time this was ever an issue is when one wanted to surprise another of the group. And the time Jehan bought the most perfect blue hooded sweatshirt and everyone tried to claim it. Enjolras thought Gavroche might have ended up with the damned thing, and the group was better for it.  


In the end, he tucked it in one of his suitcases -- none of them were travelling over the holidays, so there was little chance of it being discovered in the next week. He stashed the scarf and gloves -- after one last, lingering caress, changed into dry jeans (Joly's) and rejoined Grantaire in the dining area.  


Grantaire handed Enjolras a small glass with a deep amber liquid.  


"Just a little brandy to warm you up. I've beer in the fridge to accompany the soup. Sit. I just need to get the bread."  


"Did you cook?" Enjolras asked, eyeing the suspiciously clean kitchen counters.  


"No. I got paid."  


"Oh? What for?"  


"I'll tell you later," Grantaire said as he placed a steaming bowl of potato soup before Enjolras. "Drink your brandy, now. I don't want you to catch cold."  


Enjolras obeyed, and Grantaire brought over a plate of warm bread and four bottles of dark beer. They ate in companionable silence. The soup was excellent, procured from Enjolras's favorite deli. The beer, too, was Enjolras's favorite. He put down his spoon and peered at Grantaire.  


"Is something wrong?"  


"No?"  


"Are you certain? Is there anything you need to tell me? Are you dying? Am I dying?"  


"I...don't follow."  


Enjolras gestured towards the dinner. "You have my favorite foods here."  


Grantaire stared at him a moment, then laughed. "No, my suspicious one. Everything is fine. I did a little job for someone, got paid, wanted to treat you."  


"Nothing else?"  


"Well, I was hoping for sex later, but it doesn't usually take dinner to get that, not anymore." He winked at Enjolras. "Unless you want me to try harder to woo you?"  


Enjolras relaxed and felt a little ashamed. "I'm sorry, love, I'm not used to being spoiled."  


"You spoil me all the time. Entirely too much, as it happens." He opened a second beer. "And to be totally honest, Chetta may have pointed out I'm not the best boyfriend."  


"You're lovely," Enjolras said. "If anyone but Musichetta says otherwise, I shall challenge them to a duel."  


Grantaire tore off a piece of bread and threw it at him. Enjolras caught it and popped it into his mouth with a grin.  


They finished dinner and, after cleaning up, they brought all the blankets from Enjolras's bed to the living room. Enjolras made popcorn on the stove, and Grantaire produced a few bottles of wine from the fridge. They snuggled up for a marathon of Blue Planet.  


Grantaire fell asleep about half an hour in, and Enjolras let him sleep awhile. He worried at the circles under his eyes, darker than normal, though it did not seem as though Grantaire felt particularly poorly. Probably he had just been up late painting. Enjolras let Grantaire sleep through two episodes before rousing him.  


"Grantaire," he said, peppering kisses on the side of his neck, "let's go to the bedroom."  


Grantaire stirred sleepily against him. Enjolras nibbled at his ear. He ran his hands down Grantaire's chest, lower, under the waistband of his trousers.  


"Take me to bed, Grantaire."  


Grantaire sat up, much more alert now, and turned to face Enjolras. "I was joking about sex," he said.  


"Liar." Enjolras grinned. "You never joke about sex."  


"True." Grantaire stood and pulled Enjolras up to stand. "Come on then, and ravish me."  


Enjolras scooped up an armful of blankets. "I thought you were going to ravish me?"  


"The night is young," Grantaire replied, gathering the remaining blankets. "I'm sure we can find time for both."  


  


Later, when the moon broke through the clouds and shone in the bedroom window, Enjolras held Grantaire to him and stroked his dark hair from his forehead, leaving a kiss behind. Grantaire smiled, on the edge of sleep.  


"Enjolras."  


"Yes?"  


"I know Christmas isn't for a week and a half, but I want to give you your gift. Or tell you about it."  


"Are you sure?"  


"Yes." Grantaire sat up, blanket falling away. Enjolras allowed himself a moment to gaze before he answered.  


"Alright then."  


Grantaire got out of bed and hurried into the living room. He came back with a piece of paper. "Okay, so, you know how you've been talking for years about getting a tattoo? Well, I worked with that girl Chetta knows, the one who has the shop in Bridgetown. I've been working there weekends, designing tattoos. I earned enough to get you one, and for a few dinners, maybe theater tickets."  


"Oh my god, Grantaire." Enjolra sat up and wrapped his arms around Grantaire. "Oh, god, that's incredible."  


"You like it?"  


"It's amazing." He kissed Grantaire thoroughly. "It's too much."  


"Nonsense." Grantaire disentangled himself from Enjolras's embrace and opened the folded paper. "I sketched out a few designs, but if you had something else in mind--"  


"Give it to me!" Enjolras took the paper from Grantaire. It was covered with preliminary sketches -- laurels and branches of flowers, abstract watercolor designs, a stylized figure of Marianne, wrapped in tricolor robes.  


"I want all of these. Every inch of my skin is yours."  


Grantaire chuckled and kissed Enjolras's brow. "One thing at a time. We can look at this more in the morning." He pressed Enjolras back to the mattress, his eyes bright and alert. "But I'd be willing to discuss placement. You could get one here" -- he pressed a kiss above Enjolras's heart -- " or here" -- another along his collarbone -- "or perhaps here" -- a chaste kiss on the shoulder.  


"Mark me everywhere, Grantaire."  


"I intend to," he growled. He applied himself to the task, but Enjolras sat up.  


"Wait. Wait a moment."  


"No." Grantaire found the spot that made Enjolras moan. Enjolras's eyes closed and he almost lost his resolve. It could wait til morning. He ran his hands up Grantaire's sides.  


"No. Just a moment." He crawled out of bed and retrieved the scarf and gloves. "It's not enough," he said. "It's not nearly enough." He wrapped the scarf around Grantaire's neck, rubbing the fabric against his chest. "But it's so soft, I never want to stop touching it. I never want to stop touching _you_."  


Grantaire held the other end to his cheek and let out a little sigh. "This is exquisite, Enjolras."  


"It's cashmere. Isn't it glorious?"  


"Enjolras, this is the finest thing that I own. It's lovely."  


"The green is, I think, the exact shade of your eyes. And there are gloves, too." Enjolras slid them onto Grantaire's hands. "The woman who made them said you can wash them, so you can keep warm when you go out to draw and paint."  


Grantaire pushed Enjolras back to the mattress and traced all the skin he could reach with his covered hands. Enjolras arched into his touch.  


"Where am Igoing to keep these so no one makes off with them?" Grantaire asked between kisses.  


"On your person at all times?"  


"All times?" Grantaire took the scar from his neck and rubbed it against Enjolras's chest.  


Enjolras sighed. "Perhaps not all the time."  


Grantaire removed the gloves, set the gift aside, and came back to Enjolras.  


As soft as cashmere was, Enjolras decided that he loved nothing more than the feel of Grantaire's skin on his, with nothing between them.  



End file.
